The Loss of the Royal George by WHG Kingston

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Title: The Loss of the Royal George

Author: W.H.G. Kingston

Illustrator: H.W. Petherick

Release Date: May 9, 2007 [EBook #21405]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE ***

Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

W.H.G. Kingston

"The Loss of the Royal George"

Chapter One.

My father, Richard Truscott, was boatswain of the Royal George, one of the finest ships in the navy. I
lived with mother and several brothers and sisters at Gosport.

Father one day said to me, “Ben, you shall come with me, and we’ll make a sailor of you. Maybe you’ll
some day walk the quarter-deck as an officer.”

I did not want to go to sea, and I did not care about being an officer; indeed I had never thought
about the matter, but I had no choice in it. I was but a very little chap, and liked playing at marbles,
or “chuck penny,” in our backyard, better than anything else.

“He is too small yet to be a sailor,” said mother.

“He is big enough to be a powder-monkey,” observed my father; and as he was not a man who chose
to be contradicted, he the next day took me aboard his ship, then fitting out in Portsmouth harbour,
to carry the flag of Admiral Sir Edward Hawke. She was indeed a proud ship, with the tautest masts
and the squarest yards of any ship in the British navy. She carried one hundred and four guns, all of
brass—forty-two pounders on the lower-deck; thirty-two on the middle deck; and twenty-four
pounders on the quarter-deck, forecastle, poop, and main-deck. She had huge lanterns at her poop,
into which four or five of us boys could stow ourselves away; and from the time she was first
launched, in 1756, the flag of some great admiral always floated from the masthead. W hen my father
left me, to attend to his duty, I thought I should have been lost in the big ship, with deck above
deck, and guns all alike one another on either side; and hundreds of men bawling and shouting, and
rushing about here and there and everywhere. Sitting down on a chest, outside his cabin,—my legs
were not long enough to reach the deck,—I had a good cry; and a number of boys, some of them not
much bigger than myself, came and had a look at me, but they did not jeer, or play me any tricks, for
they had found out that I was the bo’sun’s son, and that they had better not. I soon, however,
recovered, and learned to find my way, not only from one deck to another, but up aloft; and before
many days were over, had been up to the main-truck; though when my father heard of it, for he was
below at the time, he told me not to go again till I was bigger. As I was continually, from ignorance,
getting into scrapes, and he could not keep an eye on me himself, he gave me in charge to Jerry Dix,
the one-legged fiddler and cook’s mate. Jerry could take very good care of me, but was less able to
take care of himself when he had got his grog aboard, and more than once when this happened I had
to watch over him. This made us firm friends, and I am very sure that he had a sincere affection for

me.

England was now engaged in what was known as the Seven Years’ War, which began in 1756, and had
been going on for three years, the ships of England fighting those of France whenever they could find
them, and generally giving them a drubbing. Our ship, which carried, as I have said, the flag of
Admiral Sir Edward Hawke, had, with several other line-of-battle ships, been for some time watching
the French fleet, under Admiral Conflans, shut up in Brest harbour, when, a heavy gale coming on, we
were obliged to put into Torbay for shelter. We remained there for some time, while it blew great
guns and small arms, which Jerry told me would keep the French ships shut up in harbour as securely
as would our cannon. At length the weather moderated, and our admiral made the signal for the fleet
to sail. It was a fine sight to see twenty-four line-of-battle ships, beside the Royal George, mostly
seventy-four’s, some larger and some smaller, getting under way together, and standing over to the
enemy’s coast. We were a few hours later than we should have been, however, for on our arrival we
heard that Admiral Conflans had just before slipped out of Brest harbour, and sailed away for
Quiberon Bay, hoping to cut off a small English squadron under Commodore Duff at anchor there.

We made all sail in chase, but a strong south-easterly wind blew in their teeth, and it was four days
before we arrived off Belle Isle, when we were joined by Commodore Duff, with four fifty-gun ships
and six frigates. Early in the morning, the Maidstone, one of our look-out frigates, made the signal
that the enemy’s fleet was in sight! We, on this, threw out the signal for our ships to form in line,
while the frigate was sent inshore to ascertain how far we were from it. You will understand that the
fog prevented us from seeing the land or the enemy, and from the same cause it was no easy matter,
as we all sailed close together, to prevent one ship from running into another.

We had not long to wait, however, before, the fog lifting, we caught sight of the French fleet,
crowding all sail to get away from us, for their frigates had found out our fleet, while ours had
discovered theirs. We made all sail in chase, both the enemy’s ships and ours having every stitch of
canvas they could carry. In about three hours the van of our fleet got up with them.

I remember standing by my father’s side, in the forecastle, and thinking what a grand sight it was, as
the Warspite and Dorchester gallantly commenced firing their broadsides into the enemy. The next
ship that got into action was the Magnanime, commanded by the brave Lord Howe, followed quickly
by the Revenge, Torbay, Montagu, and many others whose names are known to fame. There was a
heavy sea running at the time, and, big as were our ships, they kept tumbling about so much that we
were unable to fight our lower-deck guns. The captain of one of the French ships, the Thesée,
engaged with the Torbay, thought that he could do so; and Captain Keppel, who commanded the
English seventy-four, unwisely followed his example. The two ships were thus hotly engaged, firing
their broadsides into each other, when we saw the Frenchman give a lurch to starboard, and then
down she went; out of all her gallant crew of eight hundred men, only twenty being saved by the
British boats. The Torbay was very nearly following her, but by great exertions the guns were run in,
and the ports closed, though not till she had shipped a good deal of water. Directly afterwards
another Frenchman sank before our eyes, as we guessed, from the same cause.

I can’t say that I saw much more of what took place, for we were now going into action, and I was
sent below to attend to my duty, which was to bring up ammunition in a tub, and to sit upon it on the
main-deck, with the other ship’s boys, till it was wanted to load the guns. We were soon thundering
away at the enemy, clouds of smoke filling the space between the decks, through which I could dimly
see the crews of the guns, stripped to the waist, running them in to load, and running them out again
as rapidly as they could. Shouts from the upper deck reached us, and we heard that one of the French
ships had struck, but so heavy a sea was running, that no boat could be lowered to take possession
of her; several others were also severely handled, and one completely dismasted. Night was coming
on; and as we were but a short distance from the shore, the admiral made a signal for the fleet to
anchor, and we, rounding-to, brought up. There we lay, the wind roaring and the sea foaming and
tossing around us, anxiously waiting for daylight. I had not seen my father, who was, as I supposed,
at his station on the upper deck, when the order came to secure the guns. I was still sitting on my
tub joking with the other boys, who were congratulating themselves at not being killed, when Jerry
Dix came stumping along the deck towards me; he took my hand kindly, and I thought I saw him wipe
away a tear from his eye.

“What is the matter, Jerry?” I asked, seeing that something was wrong.

“Ben, my boy, he that’s gone told me to look after you, and so I will as long as I have a shot in the
looker. You don’t hear his pipe, do you? and you never will no more. There’s the order to return
powder to the magazine—as soon as you come up again, look out for me.”

The other boys and I hurried below to the magazine with our tubs; as soon as I came up I looked out
for Jerry.

“W hat were you talking about?” I asked, having a feeling that something had happened to my father,
though I scarcely dared to ask what.

“As I was saying, Ben, you have a friend in me if you have no other,” said Jerry, again taking my
hand. “You will grieve, my boy, I know, but it can’t be helped; so I must out with it. We have not lost

many men, but one has gone who was worth a dozen of the best; the Frenchman’s round shot coming
aboard took off his head, and deprived you of your father and us of our bo’sun.”

“Do you mean to say that father’s killed?” I asked in a trembling voice, unable to believe the fact.

“Yes, boy, he has sounded his last pipe; we shall no more hear his voice rousing up all hands, or
hailing the maintop; but he died doing his duty. We could have better spared a worse man, but there
is no help for it and so, Ben, don’t pipe your eye.”

Notwithstanding Jerry’s exhortations, I did, however, cry heartily as I lay in my hammock; and even
the other boys respected my sorrow, though it did not last long, I must confess.

The next day was an exciting one. As the morning broke, we saw our prize on shore, and another
French ship at anchor dismasted; she, on seeing us, also ran on shore; when the Essex, a sixty-four,
being sent in to take possession of her, was also wrecked; while another ship, the Resolution,
seventy-four, was discovered on the rocks, the sea beating over her; and, before assistance could be
sent, most of her gallant crew had perished. We succeeded, however, in burning the two French
ships; but others, which were almost falling into our hands, by heaving their guns overboard,
managed to escape up the river, where we could not follow.

“Although we have gained the victory, I do not see that we have gained much else for our trouble,”
observed Jerry, who was a philosopher in his way. “We have, you see, destroyed four French ships,
and sent well-nigh two thousand Frenchmen, more or less, out of the world, but then we have lost
two of our own ships and some hundred British seamen; and, worse than all, our brave bo’sun, your
father.”

The loss of my father was not to be repaired. I cannot say what might have happened had he lived,
but losing him I grew up from boy to man, knocking about the world with many a chance of being
knocked on the head, and yet with not the slightest hope of ever treading the quarter-deck as an
officer—not that I ever thought about that. Jerry proved my firm friend. Though fond of his grog, for
my sake he kept sober, that he might better look after me.

“Your father, Ben, lent me a helping hand when I had not a shot in the locker and was well-nigh
starving, and it’s my duty to help you; and so I will, boy, as long as I can keep my fiddle-stick
moving, and get a crust to put into my mouth.”

Jerry did me an essential service, for having seen better days he had got some learning, which was
more than most men in the ship possessed, and he taught me to read and write, of which I knew
nothing when I came to sea. Even my father, though boatswain of a line-of-battle ship, had not been
much of a scholar. However, I am not now going to write about myself or my own adventures. W hen
the ship was paid off, as my poor mother could not support me, and I had no fancy for any other
calling, I went to sea again with Jerry, who got the rating of cook’s mate on board the Thunderer,
seventy-four.

I was now a stout lad, and could stand to my gun or handle a cutlass as well as any man. We were
stationed off Cadiz, with three other smaller vessels, looking out for a French squadron expected to
sail for that port. Being driven off the coast by bad weather, on our return we found that the
Frenchmen had slipped out, so away we went under all the canvas we could set in pursuit. We had
come in sight of the Achille, a sixty-four gun ship, and, soon getting up with her, we opened our
broadside, receiving a pretty hot fire from her in return. We were blazing away at each other, when a
noise louder than all our guns together sounded in my ears, and I felt myself lifted off my legs and
shot along the deck. For the moment I thought the world had come to an end, or that the ship had
blown up. On opening my eyes, I caught sight of a number of dead and wounded men lying around
me, and the after-part of the ship in flames. Among them, seeing Jerry, I picked myself up and ran to
him.

“Are you killed, Jerry?” I asked.

“No, it’s only my wooden leg knocked away,” he answered. “Just get me a mop-stick, or bit of a
broken pike, and I shall soon be on my pins again.”

Jerry having soon, spliced a piece of the mop-stick which I brought him to the stump of his leg, I set
him on his pins. Meantime I found that one of the quarter-deck guns, having burst had created the
havoc I have described and set the ship on fire. All hands labouring away with buckets, we got the
flames extinguished, and stood after the enemy, who was trying to escape. We again, however, came
up with her; and running alongside, the boarders were called away, headed by our first lieutenant, Mr
Leslie, whom I followed closely. We had sprung on the deck of the enemy, and a big Frenchman was
about to cut him down, when I caught the blow on my cutlass, and saved his life. One hundred and
fifty gallant fellows coming on board after us, we quickly swept the Frenchmen from the deck, and
they, crying out that they surrendered, we hauled down their flag. I did not think that Mr Leslie was
aware of the service I had rendered him till he thanked me for it, and ever afterwards was my friend.
I had the good chance, also, some time afterwards, of keeping his head above water, when our ship,
the Laurel, was capsized in a hurricane in the West Indies; and though, of course, it was what I
would have done for anyone, I was very thankful to have been the means of again saving his life,

though I ran, he always declared, no little risk of losing my own. I served with him when he
commanded the Favourite, sloop-of-war, and afterwards in the Active, frigate, when we captured a
Spanish galleon, which put some hundred pounds into the pockets of each of the men, and a good
many thousands into those of the captain. I was pretty fortunate on board other ships, in which I
sailed to different parts of the world, getting back to old England safe at last.

Chapter Two.

Getting back safe home at last, like many another sailor, I might have sung—

“’Twas in the good ship Rover

I sail’d the world around,

For full ten years and over

I ne’er touch’d British ground.

And when at length I landed,

I could not long remain;

Found all my friends were stranded,

So went to sea again.”

Jerry, the truest of them, who had at the Peace gone on shore, I could nowhere hear of; my poor
mother was dead, my brothers at sea, and my sisters either married or in service. One of the
youngest, my sister Jane, I was told was living near Ryde with the family of a captain in the navy,
and on inquiry I found he was no other than my old commander, Captain Leslie. I started at once with
my pockets pretty well lined with gold, for I had just received a good lumping share of prize-money,
which I was sorely puzzled to know what to do with. I was pleased at the thought of again seeing my
old captain, though I scarcely fancied he would remember much about the little services I had done
him. W ho should open the door but Jane herself! She did not know me, but I knew her, though she
had grown from a girl into a young woman, and I soon persuaded her who I was. She asked me down
into the kitchen; and after we had had a talk, and she had told me all about those I cared for, she
said she would go and tell Captain Leslie and his lady, who had often spoken to her about me, for
they had found out that she was my sister. I was sent for into the drawing-room, when the captain
welcomed me kindly, and told his wife and the young ladies—for there were two of them, besides a
number of small children, boys and girls—how I had twice saved his life.

“I hope that you will stop as long as you like, and I will get you a lodging close at hand,” he said in
his pleasant way. “I have often wished that I could have shown my gratitude more than I have been
able to do.”

I told him not to trouble himself about that, as it was a pleasure to me to think that I had been of
service; and as I had more money than I knew what to do with, and never wished to be anything but
what I was, I didn’t see how he could have done more than he had done.

“I like your independent spirit, Ben,” he said, “but perhaps a time may come, when I may be able to
serve you as I should wish.”

After a good talk of old times, I went back into the kitchen. I had been sitting there for some time,
when a young woman came in with the sweetest face I ever set eyes on. I got up and made a sort of
bow, with a scrape of my foot and a pull at a lovelock I wore in those days, for it was not for me, I
felt, to sit in the presence of one like her; when Jane, laughing, said—

“Why, Ben, don’t you know Susan Willis?”

She was one of a lot of little girls I remember living next door to us, and I used to take her on my
knee and sing to her, and tell her about Lord Hawke and the Royal George, when I was at home for
the first time after going to sea. Susan smiled, and put out her hand, and that moment I felt I was
not my own master; her voice was as sweet as her smile, and had the true ring of an honest heart in
it.

“She is the young ladies’ own maid,” said Jane; “and they are as fond of her as everyone is who
knows her.”

“I am sure of it,” says I; “and I am thankful that I am among them.”

Susan looked down and blushed, and so I believe I did, though she could not see my blush through

the brown skin of my face as well as I could see the rose on her lily cheeks.

Well, the long and the short of it is that day after day I went up to the house, and at last—I couldn’t
help it—I knew that I should be miserable if Susan wouldn’t be mine, so I asked her to marry me.
How my heart did beat when she said yes. The captain and his lady were agreeable, and when they
heard that I had a matter of three hundred pounds prize-money, or more, they observed that it was a
prudent match; and so I took a cottage and furnished it, not far off, that Susan might go up and see
Mrs Leslie and the children whenever they wished, and we were married and were as happy as the day
was long. I know I was, and Susan seemed contented with her lot.

Susan was a prudent young woman, and one day she says to me, “We must do something, Ben, to
make a living.”

“Why do you think that, Susan?” I asked; “I have got no end of prize-money.”

“It’s just this,” says she; “you may think there is no end, but it will come to an end, notwithstanding:
what with the rent, and furnishing the house, and the new clothes you got me, and the weekly bills,
we have spent fifty pounds of it already. Now, if we could set up a shop, or you could turn carpenter
or gardener, or go into service with someone living hereabouts, we could lay up the rest of the money
till a rainy day; and as we have a pretty spare room, I might take in a lodger to help out the rent.”

I had never before thought of that sort of thing; but I was sure that Susan was right, and I began to
turn in my mind what to do. I soon found that I was not fit for anything Susan proposed. I never was
much of a carpenter, and I knew nothing about gardening. I tried my hand in my own garden, and had
got everything shipshape as far as the palings, walks, and borders were concerned, but I could get
nothing to come up. Still I kept thinking of Susan’s remark, and, seeing the wisdom of it, I knew that
there was only one thing I was fit for, and that was to go to sea. I was loath to part from Susan, but
there was no help for it. There came about this time a hot press at Portsmouth; and as more than
once the pressgangs had landed in the Isle of W ight, I was very sure that unless I got stowed away
securely I should be picked up. Now, thinks I, it’s better to enter as a free man; and hearing that my
old ship, the Royal George, which was lying at Spithead, was in want of hands, after a talk with the
captain and poor Susan, whose heart was well-nigh ready to break, though she could not help
acknowledging that I was right, I went on board and entered. Captain Leslie had given me a note to
Captain Waghorn, her commander, and I was at once rated as quartermaster. The flag of the brave
Admiral Kempenfelt, who had a year before been appointed Admiral of the Blue, flew aboard her. We
sailed shortly afterwards with a strong squadron for Brest, to look after a French fleet which had just
left that port, conveying a large number of merchantmen bound for the East and West Indies. On the
12th of December we had the good fortune to discover the enemy’s fleet about thirty-five leagues to
the westward of Ushant, we being a long way to leeward of the convoy. I heard the admiral talking to
the captain.

“We will cut off the merchantmen first, and fight the enemy afterwards,” says he.

W hat he had determined on he was the man to carry out, and before evening we had picked up
twenty merchantmen, laden with provisions and naval and military stores, two or three regiments of
soldiers, and a large number of seamen. The Royal George had to heave-to for the rest of the
squadron, which was a long way astern.

Next morning the French fleet was increased by a number of other ships appearing to leeward. The
admiral was a prudent as well as a brave man, and considered that it would be wiser not to engage
them, and so with our prizes we sailed back to Portsmouth. I could almost see my cottage from the
maintop, but I could not get leave to go on shore; and as to having Susan off to see me, that I would
not think of, for she would have had to see and hear things such as I did not wish my wife to
witness. We again sailed for a cruise down Channel, and, after putting into Torbay, once more
returned to Portsmouth. Admiral Kempenfelt, we had heard, had been appointed to the command of
the fleet in the Mediterranean, and we expected to sail again in a week or less. This was in August
1782. Lord Howe’s fleet was also lying off Spithead, among them the Victory, Barfleur, Ocean, and
Union, all three-deckers, close to us, and numerous other men-of-war and merchant vessels; indeed,
the people who came off from Portsmouth declared they could hardly see the Isle of W ight on account
of the masts and spars of the ships. In consequence of going foreign we had been paid in golden
guineas. As soon as I had received my pay, I got leave to go on shore to spend a couple of days, to
be off again on the evening of the 27th. I had no difficulty in getting a boat, for there were hundreds
pulling backwards and forwards. I found Susan bright and well, and looking out for me, for I had
written to say I hoped to come. We went up to see Captain Leslie and the ladies, who had sent word
that they wished us to pay them a visit. They were as kind as ever. The hours went by a great deal
too fast.

A sailor’s wife has a hard trial to bear, to have her husband at home for two or three days, and then
away for as many years or more; however, I hoped to be at home again in less time than that, and so
I cheered up Susan, and promised for her sake to take the best care of myself I could. She had not
given up her notion of taking in a female lodger. We were standing in the porch of the cottage on the
last day, when we saw a young lady in black, leading a little boy, coming along the road. The little
chap had a sailor’s hat and jacket on, though he did not seem much more than three years old.

“She is some officer’s widow,” I remarked to Susan as we watched her.

“She seems almost too young to be the mother of that child; she is his sister, more likely,” answered
Susan.

The young lady had stopped, and was looking about her; presently she came on to us.

“Can you tell me if I am likely to find a lodging hereabouts for a few days?” she asked in a sweet
voice; “I have left my luggage at the inn in the village, but I do not wish to remain there, and I feel
very tired with walking about.”

“Will you like to walk in, miss, and rest yourself?” said Susan, “for you do look tired and ill too.”

The young lady’s cheek was very pale.

“I shall indeed be thankful if you will let me do so,” she answered, and coming in she sank down in a
chair.

Susan got tea ready; it seemed to revive her a little; the child, I observed, did not call her mother;
and as I saw no wedding ring on her finger, I began to think that Susan was right about her not being
the child’s mother. Susan was evidently taken with the young lady, and, calling me out, she said that
she would ask her to stop, as she did not seem fit to walk back to the village. I offered to go to the
inn and fetch her things, but she had a bag in her hand which she said contained sufficient for the
night, and she would send for them the next morning. I soon afterwards had to go off to the ship, so
I saw no more of the young lady, who had gone to her room with the little boy.

Chapter Three.

W hat a change it was from the quiet cottage, with my sweet Susan by my side, to the lower-deck of
the big ship, crowded with people, not only her own seamen and marines, but some hundreds of
visitors, women and children! some of them the honest wives of the men, but others drunken,
swearing, loud-talking creatures—a disgrace to their sex. Quarrelling and fighting and the wildest
uproar were taking place; and then there were a number of Jews with pinchbeck watches, and all sorts
of trumpery wares, which they were eager to exchange for poor Jack’s golden guineas. Some of them
went away in the evening, but many more came back the next morning to drive their trade, and would
have come as long as coin was to be picked up.

I am not likely to forget that next morning, the 28th of August. It was a fine summer’s morning, and
there was just a little sea on, with a strongish breeze blowing from the eastward, but not enough to
prevent boats coming off from Portsmouth. I counted forty sail-of-the-line, a dozen frigates and
smaller ships of war, and well-nigh three hundred merchant vessels, riding, as of course we were, to
the flood with our heads towards Cowes.

You will understand that under the lower-deck was fitted a cistern, into which the sea-water was
received and then pumped up by a hand pump, fixed in the middle of the gun-deck, for the purpose of
washing the two lower gun-decks; the water was let into this cistern by a pipe which passed through
the ship’s side, and which was secured by a stop-cock, on the inside. It had been found the morning
before that this water-cock, which was about three feet below the water line, was out of order and
must be repaired.

The foreman came off from the dockyard, and said that it was necessary to careen the ship over to
port sufficiently to raise the mouth of the pipe, which went through the ship’s timbers below, clean
out of the water, that he and his men might work at it. Between seven and eight o’clock the order
was given to run the larboard guns out as far as they could go, the larboard ports being opened. The
starboard guns were also run in amidships and secured by tackles, the moving over of this great
weight of metal bringing the larboard lower-deck port-cills just level with the water. The men were
then able to get at the mouth of the pipe. For an hour the ship remained in this position, while the
carpenters were at work. We had been taking in ruin and shot in the previous day, and now a sloop
called the Lark, which belonged to three brothers, came alongside with the last cargo of rum; she
having been secured to the larboard side, the hands were piped to clear lighter.

I had been on duty on the main-deck; several ladies had come off early in the morning, friends and
relations of the officers. Some of them were either in the ward-room or gun-room, and others were
walking the quarter-deck with the help of their gentlemen friends, as it was no easy matter, the ship
heeling over as much as she was then doing. They thought it very good fun, however, and were
laughing and talking as they tried to keep their feet from slipping. I had been sent with a message to
Mr Hollingbury, our third lieutenant, who was officer of the watch; he seemed out of temper, and gave
me a rough answer, as he generally did. He was not a favourite indeed with us, and we used to call
him “Jib-and-Foresail Jack”; for when he had the watch at night he was always singing out, “Up jib,”
and “Down jib”; “Up foresail,” “Down foresail”; and from a habit he had of moving his fingers about
when walking the quarter-deck, we used to say that he had been an organ-player in London. Just as I
got back to the main-deck, I caught a glimpse of a young lady in black, leading a little boy; she

turned her face towards me, and I saw that she was the very same who had come to my wife’s
cottage the previous evening—indeed I should have known her by the little boy by her side. I had to
return to the quarter-deck again, and when I once more came back to the main-deck I could nowhere
see her; but whether she went into the ward-room, or had gone below, I could not learn. I asked
several people, for I thought she might have brought me off a message from Susan, and I might, I
fancied, have been of use to her in finding the person she wished to see. W hile I was looking about,
Mr Webb, the purser’s clerk, who had received orders to go on shore in charge of a boat, came up and
ordered me to call the crew away; a couple of midshipmen were going with him. This took up some
time, and prevented me from finding the young lady. Just then, as I went up to report the boat gone
to Mr Hollingbury, Mr W illiams, the carpenter, came up from the lower-deck, and requested that he
would be pleased to order the ship to be righted, as she was heeling over more than she could bear.
The lieutenant gave one of his usual short answers to the carpenter, who went below, looking as if he
did not at all like it. He was back again, however, before I had left the deck, when he said in a short
quick way, as if there was not a moment to lose—

“If you please, sir, the ship is getting past her bearings; it’s my duty to tell you, she will no longer
bear it.”

“If you think, sir, you can manage the ship better than I can, you had better take the command,”
answered Mr Hollingbury in an angry tone, twitching his fingers and turning away.

About this time there were a good many men in the waist who heard what the carpenter had said,
and what answer the lieutenant gave. They all knew, as I did, that the ship must be in great danger,
or the carpenter would not have spoken so sharply as he had.

A large number of the crew, however, were below; some on board the lighter, others at the yard-
tackles and stay-falls, hoisting in casks; some in the spirit-room stowing away, others bearing the
casks down the hatchway, all busy clearing the lighter. The greater number, it will be understood,
were on the larboard side, and that brought the ship down still more to larboard. There was a little
more sea on than before, which had begun to wash into the lower-deck ports, and, having no escape,
there was soon a good weight of water on the lower-deck. Several of the men, not dreaming of
danger, were amusing themselves, laughing and shouting, catching mice, for there were a good many
of them in the ship, which the water had driven out of their quarters. It’s my belief, however, that the
casks of rum hoisted in, and lying on the larboard side, before they could be lowered into the hold,
helped very much to bring the ship down.

There stood the lieutenant, fuming at the way the carpenter had spoken to him. Suddenly, however, it
seemed to occur to him that the carpenter was right, and he ordered the drummer to beat to quarters,
that the guns might be run into their places, and the ship righted.

“Dick Tattoo” was shouted quick enough along the deck, for everyone now saw that not a moment
was to be lost, as the ship had just then heeled over still more. The moment the drummer was
called, all hands began tumbling down the hatchways to their quarters, that they might run in their
guns.

Just then I saw a young midshipman, whom I had observed going off with Mr Webb, standing at the
entrance-port singing out for the boat; he had forgotten his dirk, he said, and had come back to fetch
it. The boat, however, had got some distance off, and he was left behind. Poor fellow, it was a fatal
piece of forgetfulness for him.

“Never mind, Jemmy Pish,” said little Crispo, one of the smallest midshipmen I ever saw, for he was
only nine years old. “There is another boat going ashore directly, and you can go in her.”

He gave an angry answer, and went back into the gun-room, swearing at his ill-luck.

The men had just got hold of the gun-tackles, and were about to bowse out their guns, which had
been run in amidship, some five hundred of them or more having for the purpose gone over to the
larboard side, which caused the ship to heel still more, when the water made a rush into the larboard
lower-deck ports, and, do all they could, the guns ran in again upon them. Feeling sure that the ship
could not be righted, I, seizing little Crispo, made a rush to starboard, and, dashing through an open
port, found myself outside the ship, which at that moment went completely over, her masts and spars
sinking under the water. Somehow or other, the young midshipman broke from me and slipped over
into the sea. I thought the poor little fellow would have been lost, but he struck out bravely, which
was, as it turned out, the best thing he could have done, as he could swim well.

I had just before seen all the port-holes crowded with seamen, trying to escape, and jamming one
another so that they could scarcely move one way or the other. The ship now lying down completely
on her larboard broadside, suddenly the heads of most of the men disappeared, they having dropped
back into the ship, many of those who were holding on being hauled down by others below them. It
was, you see, as if they had been trying to get out of a number of chimneys, with nothing for their
feet to rest upon. Directly afterwards there came such a rush of wind through the ports that my hat
was blown off. It was the air from the hold, which, having no other vent, escaped as the water
pouring in took up its space. The whole side of the ship was, I said, covered with seamen and

marines, and here and there a Jew maybe, and a good many women and a few children shrieking and
crying out for mercy. Never have I heard such a fearful wailing. One poor woman near me shrieked out
for her husband, but he was nowhere to be seen, and she thought that he was below with those who
by this time were drowned; for there were hundreds who had been on the lower-decks, and in the
hold, who had never even reached the ports, and some who had fallen back into the sea as it rushed
in at the larboard side. She implored me to help her, and I said I would if I could. We could see boats
putting off from the ships all round us to our help, and here and there people swimming for their lives
who had leaped from the stern-ports, or had been on the lower-deck. I could not help thinking of our
fine old admiral, and wished that he might be among them; but he was not, for he was writing in his
cabin at the time, and when the captain tried to let him know that the ship was sinking, he found the
door so jammed by her heeling over that he could not open it, and was obliged to rush aft and make
his escape through a stern-port to save his life. This I afterwards heard.

As the ship had floated for some minutes, I began to hope that she would continue in the same
position, and that I and others around me on her side might be saved. I hoped this for my own sake,
and still more for that of my dear wife. I had been thinking of her all the time, for I knew that it
would go well-nigh to break her heart if I was taken from her, as it were, just before her eyes.
Suddenly I found, to my horror, that the ship was settling down; the shrieks of despair which rent the
air on every side, not only from women, but from many a man I had looked upon as a stout fellow,
rang in my ears. Knowing that if I went down with the ship I should have a hard job to rise again, I
seized the poor woman by the dress, and leaped off with her into the sea; but, to my horror, her
dress tore, and before I could get hold of her again she was swept from me. I had struck out for some
distance, when I felt myself, as it were, drawn back, and, on looking round, I saw the ship’s upper
works disappear beneath the water, which was covered with a mass of human beings, shrieking and
lifting up their hands in despair. Presently they all disappeared. Just then I felt myself drawn down by
someone getting hold of my foot under the water, but, managing to kick off my shoe, I quickly rose
again and struck out away from the spot, impelled by instinct rather than anything else, for I had no
time for thought; then directly afterwards up came the masts almost with a bound, as it were, and
stood out of the water, with a slight list only to starboard, with the fore, main, and mizzen tops all
above water, as well as part of the bowsprit and ensign-staff, with the flag still hoisted to it. Many
people were floating about, making for the tops and rigging, several of them terrorstricken, who could
not swim, catching hold of those that could. I thought, on seeing this, that it would be wiser to keep
clear of them, till I could reach a boat coming towards the wreck at no great distance off. I was pretty
nigh exhausted when I reached the boat, in which were a waterman and two young gentlemen, who
happened to be crossing from Ryde to Portsmouth at the time. They soon hauled me in, and I begged
them to pull on and save some of the drowning people. As neither of them could row, quickly
recovering I took one of the oars, and was about to sit down to help the waterman, when I saw, not
far off, several sheep, pigs, and fowls swimming in all directions, while hencoops and all sorts of
articles were floating about.

“Let us save the poor beasts,” cried one of the young gentlemen thoughtlessly, just as young people
are apt to speak sometimes. We, of course, took no heed of what he said, when our fellow-creatures
had to be saved, and were pulling on when my eye fell on one of the sheep swimming away from us,
which seemed to have someone holding on to its back. We put the boat round and followed, when,
what was my surprise to see a child hanging on with both its hands to the sheep’s back! On a second
look, it struck me that he was the very same little boy I had seen at my cottage, and who had come
on board that morning with the young lady.

“Gently, now,” I cried out, afraid that the little fellow might let go his hold before we were up to him,
but he held on bravely. In half a minute we were alongside the sheep, and I had the child safely in
my arms. The young gentlemen hauled the poor sheep into the boat, for it would not have done to let
it drown after having saved the child. I now saw that the little fellow was the same I had supposed,
for he had his hat fastened on under his chin, and his sailor’s jacket and trousers on; he looked more
astonished than frightened, and when I asked him how he had got into the water he could not tell
me.

“Where is the young lady? is she your mother or aunt?” I asked.

He had no answer to give, but only gazed about with a startled look. He might have been younger
than I had supposed; at all events, not a word could I get out of him to let me know who he was.
One of the young gentlemen wished to hold him in his arms, so I gave the little fellow to him, and,
taking the oar, we began to pull back towards the wreck to try and save any who might be still
swimming about. The tops and rigging were by this time full of people who had managed to reach
them, while several hanging on by ropes were still floating in the water. A number of boats from the
men-of-war had, however, got up to the spot, and they were better able to go in among the spars
and rigging than was our light wherry with the sea which was then running. Now that I was safe
myself, I was anxious to learn who among my shipmates had escaped; but then I had the little boy to
look after, who was all wet and shivering, and I knew too that the news of the accident would soon
reach Susan, and that she would be in a fearful state of alarm if I did not let her know that I had
been preserved. I told the young gentlemen this, and begged them to let the boatman put me and
the child ashore at Ryde, promising him a guinea if he would do so. They were strangers who had
been making a tour on the island, and, though they were in a hurry to get back to Portsmouth, they
at once consented to do as I wished.

As we had a fair wind we hoisted the sail, and, soon getting away from the scene of the disaster,
quickly reached the hard at Ryde. After thanking the young gentlemen and the waterman, I had
jumped on shore with the child in my arms, and was stooping down to get hold of the sheep which I
thought ought to be mine, or rather the little boy’s, when the waterman stopped me.

“No, no, master! you are not going to have that animal,” he said; “I want him.”

“We should not have stopped to pick up the sheep if it had not been for the little boy,” observed one
of the young gentlemen; “and so, as the sheep’s life was saved on his account, the animal should go
where he goes.”

The waterman, however, seemed determined to have the sheep.

“Come, master,” said I, “I will give you half a guinea, and that is as much as you will get for the
animal.”

The waterman still held out.

“Come, you shall have a guinea,” said I, getting the money out of my pocket.

“And we will give five shillings apiece,” said one of the young gentlemen.

“Come, that must settle the matter,” said the other, giving the sheep a lift out of the boat.

Still the man grumbled, wanting to get more, but, handing the guinea to the young gentlemen, for
the little boy being wet to the skin,—as of course I was, though that did not matter,—I wanted to be
off home. I got hold of the poor sheep and dragged it along, thinking thus to settle the matter.
W hat had come over the waterman I do not know, but, springing out, he was going to catch hold of
the sheep, when his foot slipped, and in he went between the boat and the hard.

“Go on, sailor, go on,” cried the young gentlemen, laughing, while the waterman, now wet as I was,
scrambled out, and, seeing that there was no use in following, got into his boat. Feeling very much
obliged to the young gentlemen, and sorry I could not stop to thank them again, I hurried up as fast
as I could to my home.

Chapter Four.

As I walked up the hill towards my cottage many people stopped, surprised at seeing me dripping
wet, carrying a child and leading a sheep, and asked me all sorts of questions about the wreck; but I
would not delay to answer them, except very briefly, or I should never have got home. I hoped that
Susan would not have heard of the ship going down, still I half expected to meet her coming to learn
if I had escaped; and I thought of the joy it would be to her to find that I was alive and well. As I
drew near I saw that the cottage door was open; still Susan did not come out. My heart began to sink
within me. I turned the sheep into the garden, and shut the wicket gate. I did not mind just then if
the poor animal ate up all the flowers and vegetables; it deserved the best I could give it for the
service it had rendered the little boy in my arms. No one was in the outer room, but I heard voices,
and, opening the door of Susan’s room, I saw Mrs Leslie and the two young ladies, with my sister
Jane, standing by Susan’s bed. Jane, catching sight of me, rushed out of the room and threw her arms
round my neck.

“Thank Heaven, you are alive, Ben!” she exclaimed. “It will bring Susan to; don’t be afraid. The
captain has gone off for the doctor. She saw the ship go down, and went off in a faint, thinking that
all on board must be lost. I, fortunately, was with her. The captain, who was looking through his
glass at the time, also saw the ship go over, and came down at once with the ladies to comfort her,
he intending to go off to Spithead to learn all about the matter, and to hear if you had been saved.
He, however, was first to go round to send up the doctor, and that was the reason he missed you.”

“But, Ben,” she asked, “is this the child Susan was telling me about? And the poor young lady, what
has become of her?”

I just told Jane what had happened; but I could not say much, for all the time I was speaking I felt
ready to drop, thinking that maybe Susan was gone altogether, but that she had not the heart to tell
me so. I saw, however, that the ladies were burning feathers and holding salts to her; and at last Mrs
Leslie came out, and after I had told her all I had said to Jane, with which she was much interested,
she begged I would not be cast down, as she hoped my wife would soon again come round. She then
went back to Susan’s room, but soon returned.

“You may go in,” she said, “and maybe, if she opens her eyes, the sight of you will do her more good
than anything else.”

I did as she bid me, but as I leaned over Susan my heart sank, for she did not seem to breathe at all,
and looked so pale that I thought she must really be dead. Still the young ladies kept applying the
burnt feathers and salts, and then one of them held a small looking-glass for a moment over her

mouth, and showed me that there was breath on it, and that made me feel a little less miserable. At
last the doctor came; he felt her pulse, and looked very grave; then he opened her mouth, and,
having given her something, stood watching its effects.

Soon I could see that she was beginning to breathe, a slight colour having come back to her cheeks,
and then she opened her eyes, but she seemed not to be looking at anything. Presently, however,
she began to move them, and uttering a faint cry she sat up, and, throwing her arms around my neck,
burst into tears.

“She will do now very well,” said the doctor; and he and the ladies left the room. In a little time,
however, they came back and called me out, telling Jane to go and sit with my wife. The doctor
showed me some physic bottles on the mantelpiece, and, saying that Jane knew what to do with
them, he began to make inquiries about the wreck and the little boy, and how I had saved him.

I found that the ladies had got off his wet clothes, which Jane had hung up to dry before the fire,
while they had wrapped him up in their shawls. The only thing which the ladies found in his pockets
was a little case. On opening it they saw that it contained a picture—a likeness of the child himself,
just as he was then dressed. It was but slightly wet, as the water had not had time to soak it, so it
was soon dried.

“It must be carefully preserved, as it may assist to prove who he is,” observed Mrs Leslie, though how
that was to be was more than I could tell. “It is slightly done in water-colours, evidently by a lady,”
observed Mrs Leslie.

She examined it carefully, but could find no name either on the picture or the case. It was placed on
the mantelpiece to show to the captain as soon as he arrived. Jane then took the child in to see
Susan, who kissed him again and again, as if he were her own child restored to her, and from that
moment she felt towards him almost as if she was his mother. Of course I had to go over the whole
story again, but I could only narrate what I knew.

“We must wait to hear more till the captain comes back,” said Mrs Leslie. “He will be truly thankful to
find that you have escaped, Ben, and then we will consider what must be done with this little child.
Perhaps his father or mother may have escaped and will claim him, or the poor young lady who you
say took him on board, though you think she was not his mother.”

“Please, ma’am,” I said, “though I cannot claim any merit for saving the child—for it was the sheep
saved him—I would like that my wife should have charge of him, and I am sure she would, for she
said so just now. I say it at once for fear anybody else should ask to have him and I suspect that
there will be a good many who will make the offer.”

“We will hear what the captain thinks,” said Mrs Leslie. “But you certainly have a better claim than
anybody else, though, as I said before, probably some of his friends will come and claim him.”

I thought so too, but I knew in the meantime that it would please Susan greatly to have charge of
the little fellow.

At last the ladies, leaving Jane with us, returned home; and the doctor went to visit his other
patients, saying he would look in again during the evening.

By that time Susan was able to sit up and tell me more about the young lady. She had got up very
early in the morning, and, begging to have some breakfast for herself and the li...